


The Dream Ends

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy must confront Sync when his orders are absolute.</p>
<p>Tumblr Prompt: Guy needs to kill Sync because Peony ordered it. Established secret relationship between Guy and Sync.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dream Ends

The valley is quiet aside from the bubbling brook and the quiet hooting of some monster or another from the nearby forest. It’s a fitting setting, he thinks, as he corners his opponent against the rocky hill. There’s no escape from here, not this deep in the valley, unless the other has learned to scale sheer stone without aid. Guy thinks he would have noticed that.

"Sync, stop," he breathes, and there’s such tiredness, such resigned acceptance to his voice. The green haired figure freezes with his back to the stone wall, already beaten to high hell by the contingent of guards who tried to catch him alive. Guy reaffirms his grip on his sword and steps forward; Sync tries to step back.

It’s almost enough to make him smile: this is how their relationship had started, this backwards and forwards and hemming and hawing.

"Why?" Sync’s voice is lost, too much like the child he pretends he isn’t, and Guy hears the cracking of his own heart as he steps forward to do what the Emperor has ordered. There’s so much in that one word -  betrayal, hope, confusion, desperation - and it’s so loaded that Guy can’t really address everything wrong.

"By the order of Emperor Peony - "

"Do I mean nothing to you?" Sync screams it, slashing his hand through the air. "Was I nothing but some game to you, something to be tossed to the side once your damned Emperor decided it was time for me to go? What I’ve done can’t be forgiven, I get that, but - but you would really kill me?"

Guy pauses a few feet away, his eyes hard, his mouth set in a thin line, his grip tight, but damn it he wants nothing more than to toss the weapon aside, to be rid of the thing intended for killing, and to grip Sync so tightly to himself that he will never let go.

But his duty - his duty is to his Emperor, not his heart, no matter what the fluttering organ might demand.

Sync stares at him, meets those eyes, and the hope in his eyes, the light that Guy loved to watch whenever Sync learned something new, dies. Instead Sync falls into an old fighting stance, his hands clenched too tightly -  _he’ll hurt himself_ \- and body too tightly wound, but he’ll fight.

Guy used to tell him that his movements were like a thunderstorm - lightning quick jabs, thunderous artes, and a whirlwind of power. He recalls fondly the days they spent sparring, learning, and perhaps that is why Guy knows what Sync will do. He knows when to block, when to trip his lover, how to stop Sync from casting. He knows how to interrupt each of those perfectly timed kicks and how to pin Sync down.

So he does.

In moments Sync is pinned to the wall under his arm, and Guy has his sword pulled back, and he thinks  _Just do it_ but Sync’s eyes are - 

"I can’t," Guy whispers, and he wants to scream at himself for his hesitation, but his heart simply won’t let him. He feels Sync tense under his arm, the swallow as it passes down his throat.

"I don’t want to die." Sync’s voice is so small, so unlike him, and his eyes are watering. "Not by your hand."

Guy leans forward and presses his mouth to Sync’s, messy and wet and desperate, and he feels those lips, that tongue, and it’s so familiar, and so wonderful.  His heart soars, mended by the decision to love, and he smiles and feels Sync smile, and he hears the forming of the words against his lips by Sync’s, a faint line of hope - 

Guy mouthes back, “I’m sorry.”

If he could go back to that moment in time, he would have. He would have done things differently. He would have killed Sync more quickly, or perhaps never kissed him, or have just dropped his sword and clutched Sync to his chest and let them both be killed. He would have. He swears it to himself.

But as it is, in this singular moment, with his blade shoved through Sync’s abdomen, he still kisses Sync, he still prays that somehow what he’s done is forgivable, and when he pulls back, there’s such a look of anguish in Sync’s eyes - 

Blood dribbles down his chin, and Guy gently wipes it away with his thumb. They’re both crying, but Sync’s eyes are closing, and his teeth are clenched with agony. When Guy yanks the sword back and throws it to the side, he catches Sync as he falls.

"I’m so sorry," Guy gasps, and he can’t get enough air, but Sync can’t either, and there’s nothing they can do. His hand comes to rest over the wound, and Sync jerks like a dropped marionette, but soon his eyes are glazed over, half open, and Guy knows it’s approaching.

"But I love you," Sync murmurs, the final argument, and Guy pushes against the wound, crying out against his own stupidity.

He ignores the green light engulfing Sync’s body, the blood drenching his gloves, the faded breaths and the choking tears. He ignores everything except for Sync’s face, which has started to go slack, and those dark green eyes, the ones he wakes up to every morning, are losing their light just as his skin brightens.

"I love you too," Guy chokes, and he reaches out to touch Sync’s cheek, but he can’t feel any warmth through his gloves, even though Sync leans into the touch.

It isn’t until the fonons are dissipating, floating away to join the fon belt, to a place where Sync will never feel pain, that he realizes that there won’t be a morning kiss, there won’t be a warmth next to him in that bed, there won’t be another night of love and adoration and need, there won’t be -

There won’t be Sync.

Instead, the bookshelves will remain full of books Guy doesn’t read, the bed will stay made on one side, a disheveled mess on the other, the dining table will have only one set of dishes, one cup, one set of silverware.

Guy looks down at the shimmering body, the little fireflies of light that dissipate the moment they flutter skyward, and he bows his entire body over that one, running his fingers once more through that beautiful hair. His gasps are done, his sobs are over, but there is no peace, no joy, and he wants to leave his ruined heart here with the young body of the man he loved.

But the replica’s body disappears, and Guy is left alone with only a bloody, ruined sword for company. 


End file.
